Flash Point Page 3

  Initially, they’d been about college and the challenges of balancing school and work, and trying to have a social life. As the years had gone by, the challenge had shifted to dealing with her mother, who Brad figured was more than half crazy. Despite that, Emmaline had lived her life with grace, integrity, and humor. And Brad had felt like an idiot because he’d developed a thing for a woman he’d never met. Meeting her in person had only aggravated the condition.

  He picked up his coffee and took a sip, all the while keeping his gaze locked on her. “You should know there’s been some interest in your place over the past few months.” She paused, mid-chew, then swallowed. “What do you mean there’s been interest in my place?”

  He took a muffin out of the box, offered it to her, and when she shook her head, broke off a piece before answering. “A break-in a month or so ago. Could have been kids, but I don’t think so.”

  She frowned. “Why not?”

  “Call it a gut feeling. That, and a few weeks back there was a guy who was asking about the place. Wanted to know who owned it and whether it was for sale.” He bit into the muffin, chased it with coffee. “There are developers interested in making the Loss over into an upscale resort town. That guy may have been one of their people.”

  “Okay.”

  He didn’t like that the information brought a guarded expression to her face, but it was better for her to know.

  “I guess break-ins happen everywhere. Do you know if anything was taken?”

  Brad shrugged. “It looked more like they were after something in particular. Papers were tossed around the front office, files gone through. I don’t know if they found whatever it was. I had the broken lock replaced.” He paused, then held out a hand. “Let me see your cell phone.”

  She stared at his hand. “Why?”

  “I’m going to put in the nonemergency number to the police station and my personal cell phone number.” He cocked an eyebrow. “I’ll bet you didn’t put it in when I gave you my card last night, did you?”

  “I can take care of myself.”

  All her wariness made him think there was more to her discomfort than the news of the break-in. Maybe she sensed his interest, and that made her uncomfortable. God, he hoped not. Or maybe Walt hadn’t shared, or hadn’t known everything about his granddaughter. Brad would lay money down that there was something traumatic in this woman’s background that had to do with law enforcement.

  “No doubt. But you’re isolated out there, and it’s my job to keep you safe. This is one of the few mountain communities that has pretty good cell coverage. For emergencies call nine one-one, then call me. If you think something doesn’t feel right, makes you nervous, call me.”

  Emmaline sat still for several moments, and he could almost see the wheels turning in her brain, until finally, she reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out her phone. She opened it to the contacts page and handed it over. He tapped in his information, then glanced up to see a spark of amusement in her eyes.

  “Something funny?”

  “It must be hard to tap on the small letters on the screen with such big fingers.”

  He gave a half smile. “As a matter of fact, that’s one of the reasons I hate texting. I keep hitting the wrong letters and ending up with stupid autocorrects.”

  “You know you can make the letters bigger, right?”

  “Yeah?” He reached to his belt and produced his phone, tapped in the passcode and handed it to her. “Go ahead. Do that, and put in your cell number.”

  “Why do you need my number?”

  He didn’t know why her reserve only spiked his interest. Go figure. “We’re neighbors. This way I can call you if I get scared in the night.”

  She scowled at him. “Very funny.”

  Humor faded when she handed back his phone. “Actually, it’s not. I want you safe. I’m responsible for everyone in this valley, and that includes you.”

  He finished his coffee and picked up his box of muffins before rising to stand next to the table. His crew at the station were going to be ecstatic with the baked goods.

  “You’re not responsible for me, and I can take care of myself.” She narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean we’re neighbors?”

  His radio hissed out static before a female voice sounded. “This is base to Hangman One, come in, Chief.”

  “Just that. Gotta go. Later, Emmaline.”

  Chapter Three

  Hunger satisfied, Emma drove back to the cabins. She wondered if the police chief and the seriously cute Maddy were engaged. Could he truly be what he seemed? She’d never met anyone who exuded honesty and integrity like that man. While she knew some cops were good, her own experience proved the danger of trusting blindly. Given the right motivation, most cops could be corrupted. She’d have to wait and see with this one.

  Deciding she had more important things to worry about than Bradley Gallagher, Emma tried to focus her thoughts. She’d have to prioritize what needed to be done. Jump-starting her business before she ran out of money was smack-dab at the top of the list. Today she would inspect the buildings, decide if any repairs were needed, and maybe get an idea of how long before she could open to paying customers. Hot water and electricity were the first concerns.

  She drove up the driveway and stopped in front of the rental office. When she got out of her car, she paused to take in her world. A breeze played through the tops of the trees, causing the aspens to rustle lightly. The lake reflected the blue, cloudless sky and on the far side she could make out a fisherman as he arced his rod over his head to cast his line. Farther west, mountain slopes rose, at first gently, the cleared paths of ski runs crisscrossing the slopes, then more steeply as the snow-covered peaks jutted into the sky.

  She would make the resort work. She had to because she would never give this up and return to live in the city. Beyond that, she wanted to understand who her grandfather had been. What could have driven such a wedge between father and daughter that even when times were at their worst, when Emma had been in foster care and her mother had been in court-ordered rehab, Trudy Kincaid had not reached out to her father.

  One summer when she was eight, Emma had looked in her mother’s address book and found a phone number with her grandfather’s name. Because of a tenacious social worker, she’d had that precious summer with her grandfather instead of living in a foster home.

  And doggedly, whenever she could manage it, she’d spent other summers with him. At eighteen and fresh out of high school, and then only against her mother’s wishes, she had spent one more summer with him. She hadn’t known at the time that that would be the last time she’d see her grandfather.

  Determined to hold on to the happiness of being here and not let memories of her childhood bring her down, Emma got to work and unloaded the remaining gear from the car before turning her attention to straightening the main office. A box of papers on the desk might have been the remnants of the break-in the chief had mentioned. Everything else appeared pretty much as her grandfather had left it. She opened the windows wide to let in fresh air.

  Emma was glad to see the tiny kitchen equipped with the basics for cooking. Eating in meant she could keep her spending down. She planned to live frugally and not dip into her carefully saved start-up money.

  Once her living area was in order, she found a set of keys and took a walk around the property. The office cabin was the first building people would see when they came up the drive. There were a few parking spaces in front and along the road, which passed the office and snaked back through the pines and aspens where cabins branched off on either side.

  The rentals were situated fairly close together, but the trees gave them privacy. Beyond them the road looped around to a dock that stretched into the lake. The boathouse, Emma remembered, held canoes and kayaks, fishing gear and life vests. Those would need to be inspected for safety before being made available to guests. Past the lake, the road gained in elevation, then wound past more cabins before circling
back to the office.

  Emma started a more detailed inspection with the garage that sat across the driveway from the office. It was packed full of furniture, probably for use in the cabins. Tables and folding chairs leaned against a far wall and an old TV balanced precariously on what looked like a nightstand.

  She locked the garage and trudged up the road to the first cabin. They all had the names of area wildlife carved into wooden signs nailed beside the front doors. Crossing the porch, she unlocked the door of Black Bear Cabin and peeked in, recalling, as she looked around, how small the rentals were.

  The front door opened to a cozy living room with a tiny kitchen to the right. At the far wall a doorway led to a bedroom. Most of the furnishings looked rather dated but seemed to be in good condition. The bathroom was accessed through a door on the right side of the small bedroom. It was hardly large enough to turn around in, and was outfitted with a shower-tub combo, a toilet, and a sink.

  Walking to the next cabin, Wolverine, Emma saw that what she had thought were wooden bins of some sort were actually bear-proof enclosures for trashcans. Geez, how often did bears visit the cabins?

  Each cabin brought back memories of her grandfather, showing her how to replace a doorknob, or unclog a sink, or rewire an electrical outlet. And all the while, instilling in her the value of honest work. She wondered now if Walt had tried extra hard with her because his own daughter had so completely rejected the lesson.

  For the next couple hours Emma toured the remaining rentals. All of them were oriented toward the lake though several were set back into the forest providing a more secluded atmosphere. Each had a wide deck with a barbecue and a small table with chairs so vacationers could sit outside and enjoy the beautiful mountain scenery.

  There were seventeen cabins in all and she was mostly pleased with their condition. All needed some cosmetic attention, but a thorough scrubbing and a fresh coat of paint would do for most. Once the electricity was on, she would test the appliances and hoped she’d find most of them in working order.

  Making her way back to the rental office, Emma spied a bird, black with a white underbelly and a splash of red crowning its head, swoop low before forcing its body through an impossibly small hole in the trunk of an aspen. She watched intently until it poked its head back through and swooped off again. A woodpecker, she was sure of it. She’d bet the local library would have books on local wildlife. Emma felt happier having seen the bird. She hoped it was building a nest in the tree.

  Stepping onto the porch of the office, Emma spotted a truck coming down the drive. At one time the pickup may have been black, but it was so muddy and spattered with dirt its color was almost indistinguishable. A man who could have been anywhere between fifty and sixty-five got out and plodded over to stop at the base of the steps. Tufts of gray hair stuck out from under a baseball cap with the letters HL circled by a noose stitched above the bill. His yellow suspenders gave him away as the man who’d been talking to the Brad outside the café.

  The man tugged on his cap and nodded to her. “I’m Bert Morales.” Jet-black eyes studied her intently. “You might have the look of Walt about the chin and mouth. Hair color’s close to his, back before his turned whiter than mine. Eyes are the same. Chief says you’re his granddaughter.” He stuck his chin toward her like an accusatory finger.

  Not sure what to expect from him, Emma nodded warily. “I’m Emma Kincaid. My mother was Walt’s daughter Trudy.”

  He gave her a curt nod, squinting against the strong sunlight. “Figured as much. Why didn’t you visit your grandpa when he was sick?”

  Emma straightened her spine and faced the question for the second time that day. “That’s none—” She broke off, remembering Brad’s advice. “I was taking care of my sick mother,” she answered. “What can I do for you, Mr. Morales?”

  He stared at her with those dark eyes as if he would know a lie if he heard one. “Guess that would be a problem. Anyways, both Brad and Maddy asked me to come by here and check out the propane tank.”

  “What do you charge for your services, Mr. Morales?”

  “It’s Bert, and nothing for lookin’ at it. Now, Walt and I did have a business arrangement. He was able to fix most of the small stuff but called me out for anything bigger. If you’re interested in the same, we’ll work out a fee schedule.”

  Emma knew down to the last penny what she had in the bank and she had to make it stretch. She probably needed to pick up Basic Repairs for Dummies, if there was such a book, for a refresher course. It looked like she was joining the city library. “Right now I’ll tackle the little stuff. Anything major will have to wait until I’ve got money coming in.”

  “Fair enough. Let’s go take a look at that tank.”

  ***

  Several long hours later, Emma bowed her head under the hot spray of the shower. Bert Morales had pronounced the propane tank in good working order and blessedly full, so now she was able to wash away a couple of days’ worth of grime. She’d dropped off the police chief’s lantern at the station after breakfast, and she’d come across an old Coleman of her grandfather’s so she didn’t have to rely solely on her flashlight. On her way home she’d also found the grocery store. She’d bought a small ice chest to keep her groceries cold until the electricity was on, and so, in addition to enjoying a hot shower, she was now full with scrambled eggs and toast cooked in her own little kitchen.

  Emma liked the feel of the town. She was a born worrier, and one of the biggest worries with her decision to move to Hangman’s Loss had been whether she’d fit in with small-town people. So far, they seemed friendly enough, and she thought Bert Morales might be able to tell her something about her grandparents. She knew next to nothing about her grandmother, only that she’d died when Trudy was a girl. She hoped going through her grandfather’s things would turn up some family photos.

  The image of the Hangman’s Loss police chief came to mind as she rinsed out conditioner. Tall, dark, and handsome was a cliché but it sure worked for her. She twisted off the taps and reached for the towel. Look but don’t touch, she told herself. Chief Hottie was definitely off-limits.

  Emma left her hair loose to dry and bundled into a long-sleeved t-shirt, sweatpants, and her hooded sweatshirt. With thick socks on her feet and holding the lantern, she stepped out of the bathroom. It hadn’t taken her long to learn the temperature in the mountains dropped markedly at night in early May. But, to save money, she didn’t want to run the heater more than absolutely necessary. Layered clothing was essential.

  At the front of the cabin, she turned the deadbolt, then stilled when she spied headlights spearing through the trees. Switching off the lantern, she peered through the window. A large vehicle came down the gravel driveway from the road, high beams nearly blinding her. Had Brad returned?

  Reaching the wide area where her car was parked, the vehicle stopped and idled, bathing her cabin in bright light. She tried to see beyond the headlights. It looked like a large SUV or perhaps a truck with a shell over the bed, the windows impenetrable.

  Careful not to reveal herself in the window, she continued to watch for several taut minutes until the vehicle finally backed up to make a three-point turn before heading back up the driveway to the road. The incident made her nervous. Was it the person who had broken into the office? Or maybe the guy the chief had mentioned asking if the resort was for sale. Why had they come at night?

  After checking the deadbolt and then the lock on the kitchen door once again, Emma returned to her bedroom to crawl under the covers, her cell phone clutched in her hand. She could call Brad, but then what? The vehicle had driven off, so there wasn’t any danger. And she couldn’t call him just to hear his voice, just for reassurance. She put the phone on the small nightstand and switched off the lantern. Lying on her back, she stared into the blackness for a long time before finally falling asleep.

  Chapter Four

  Dressed in jeans and heavy shirt, hair pulled back in a ponytail, Emma could qu
ite cheerfully have killed for a cup of coffee. She stepped out onto the porch, shoulders hunched against the early chill, thinking longingly of the coffeemaker she’d found in a kitchen cupboard. It probably made great coffee. It didn’t even have to be great, just caffeinated would work for her. But no electricity meant no coffee, unless she wanted to try boiling coffee on the gas range. If she got desperate enough, maybe she’d try that. The power company had assured her they would have a crew out Monday to hook her up. Not much help on Sunday morning.

  After convincing herself she couldn’t run into town just for coffee, Emma decided to clear her head with a walk along the shore. The lake was spectacular in the early morning light, the water calm with hardly a ripple to disturb its surface. Emma walked out onto the dock. Sunlight spearing over low hills lightening a cloudless sky.

  To the north tall pines edged up to the lake, some of them toppled into the water. The town sat along the far end where a fishing boat puttered from the marina. A plopping sound carried over the lake and she glanced up in time to catch the silvery glint as a fish leapt out of the water.

  Retracing her steps off the dock, she turned south, in the opposite direction of town. A trail ran along the shore and Emma recalled it circled the lake. At eighteen, she and her grandfather had hiked the complete circuit. Following the track, she wound through towering pines and the gray trunks of aspen. Little paths joined it, coming from the rentals. Guests would enjoy strolling down to the lake to go fishing, or just walk, as she was doing. Past the last of the cabins the trail followed the lake for a distance, then curved sharply to the left where Emma found a small cove. Here a creek tumbled into the lake and tall reeds and water plants grew in abundance. A neat wooden bridge spanned the creek and Emma crossed it to take up the path on the far side.